Blackened Sunrise Revised
by The Itch
Summary: [AU from end of OotP] The wayward BoyWhoLived has returned from a seven year journey through hell. Destined to destroy Voldemort, Harry Potter intends going about it in explosive style. [dark, newest chapter: 'On the topic of werewolves...']
1. Chapter 1

I have spent the last seven years running. From memories, heartache, guilt, fear and myself. From the realization that it was my own goddamned destiny that chased me across cities, nations, and continents... I did my best to forget it all, and in doing so, I tried everything. Designer drugs, and high-class shions, muggle and wizarding alcohol alike-- there was nothing to low, to dirty, to addictive, to lethal that would stop me from trying it. 

The buzz would kill my mind, and for a moment, I would be happy. It never lasted. 

I tried to be muggle, tried to pretend it was all a hallucination from an acid trip; I was just Joe average muggle, trying to fit in. I was punk, goth, and emo. I was a preppie, a junkie and a jock. 

That too, did not last, and soon enough I was running again. 

I tried to prepare, to get ready for the prophecy that held me. I learned to fight; I trained with the greatest masters of muggle and wizard battle techniques. I scoured texts under the watchful gazes of both worlds' scholars. Magical Theory and Physics warred for supremacy as I fought in illegal street fights. I lost hair, teeth and consciousness many a time. 

That, too, did not last, and once again I found myself helpless before the guilt that ate away at my soul. 

I have been molested and arrested. Accused and acquitted, locked away from six months, on the run for a year. Muggle or magic, it did not matter to me, so long as I was free of the weight of my own feelings. 

Sirius was dead because of me. 

I was nearly sixteen when I "ran away". To my surprise, no one actually noticed it until school started up in September; as long as the Order of the Phoenix continued to receive my brief letters, they assumed that I had locked myself up in my room and wasn't coming out for any reason whatsoever. Did they think I was sending Hedwig off at night, or something? 

By the time they realized, my trail was six feet under-- let alone cold-- and hardly anyone on it knew my real name. 

I'm not as stupid as I look. 

Perhaps that's why Wolfos spent all that time looking for me. Three years ago he and his 'Legion of the Falcon' located me; in the last place anyone would ever expect to find the heir of the Potter and Black fortunes, the infamous Boy-Who-Lived. I was locked up in a small-time prison in rural China that held wizards and muggles alike. I'm not exactly sure where it is on a map, though I could take you there by foot. 

I'd been in and out of it since I'd come to the area the year previous. I was a peddler, though the locals recognized me as a wizard. I sold items pick pocketed over the years, sold off a few rare herbs that I'd remembered from herbology and potions that I'd picked on my travels. I got myself a modest sum, and helped the people there. I got into a brawl every now and again, and perhaps I was accused of a little witchcraft here and there. My stays in the prison were short, and for minor infractions. 

It was... comfortable. I guess I was like a Native American shaman, making herbal remedies and using what few healing spells I knew. I was finally leaving the ghost of my godfather behind. 

It's no surprise that someone would find me and put an idea into my head that made me want to go back home. 

For all intents and purposes, the wizarding world was at peace. The Order of the Phoenix-- once they realized that I wasn't coming back, and that I was most likely dead-- took the reigns of the fight against Voldemort. Tom was powerful and devious, but not infallible. The legend of a baby having defeated him was able to boost the courage of many a man when they finally got off the "Boy-Who-Lived" thing. 

If a child could beat him, certainly a nation who worked together could. 

Restricting Runes had been placed on all of Tom's clothing, the leather straps around his neck, wrists and ankles had been warded by the most powerful aurors on the Ministry staff, as well as Albus Dumbledore, Minvera McGonagall, Ginvera Weasley and Neville Longbottom. It still surprises me that the rest of the world was shocked by the immense magical power that Ginny and Neville had. 

After all, one was a Longbottom, and one had been powerful enough to be used to bring a soul trapped in a book almost back to life. 

I'd known that Tom was in Azkaban on a life sentence-- the ministry was all for the "kindness" and "mercy" that Riddle had never shown to anyone. A publicity stunt, I suppose. 

Wolfos had sent his lieutenant to try and talk me into 'joining' their little crusade. They wanted many things-- an end to the corruption in the ministry, the elimination of the Death Eater threat, and Riddle's death. Because while Riddle was locked away, that didn't stop his plans for world domination and the death of all things Muggle-related. Apparently, Tom was immune to the Dementors, even with his magic bound, and he was using Azkaban and his base of operations. All under the nose of the ministry, of whom figured that no one who was locked up inside the jail was a threat. 

From what the Legionnaire Katar had told me, the Death Eaters were quite active, killing up to thirty percent more muggles over the course of a year than they had the four years that Tom had been out in the 'real world'. Oh, certainly the wizards were trying to stop them, but without knowing who the mastermind was, they seemed to just be taking shots in the dark. 

Katar knew I would take up the offer to join, to fix this mess. How could I refuse it? 

When I finally made my way to Wolfos' home, I was welcomed not with open arms, but with open hands. Katar nearly took my life with a knifehand to my windpipe in the first minutes of being through the door. It was only the time I had spent fighting in dark alleys that saved my life. 

Still, I was defeated... and Katar took me on as his personal student. He trained me as his replacement, as the one who would eventually replace him, given that he was a full-grown _muggle_ man. As such, he gave me a priceless gift and a horrible curse; he gave me the Power, and taught me how to use it. 

The Power is... well, more muggles have it than wizards do. Its strength is based on sheer willpower; otherwise it will do nothing for you. Muggles unconsciously tap into it through their adrenaline-- they lift cars, and do death-defying things when a child or an innocent is in danger. Wizards... the problem with wizards is that they lack willpower. When they have magic to do everything for them, they don't bother to get up and do it themselves. They don't bother to improve. 

Why bother scrubbing the floors clean, when you can use a spell? Why take a beautiful scenic trip across the land to visit family, when you can floo, or apperate, or portkey yourself there, and save time? 

There's a reason why the Aurors are so few that an entire underground movement had to be created in the first war with Voldemort to fight him-- no one wants to be one. Wizards are not proud of their nation, and their people. The only thing they take pride in is their bloodlines. It disgusts me. 

This is why so few wizards are among the Legion of the Falcon, and none of them are pureblooded. 

I suppose "gave me" is a bit of a... misrepresentation. Katar coached me in fighting and subtlety, and when he thought that I was ready, he induced the dream state needed to "connect" and "become one" with the Power. I would consider it a torture technique, if one did not come out of the state with a greater strength than they had ever dreamed. 

Of course, if the power judges one "unworthy", the end result is a very painful, very gruesome death. I have seen it happen. 

Thankfully, of course, I was found worthy. I survived the "Challenge", as Katar phrased it. I had lived through my most painful memories, and hidden fears. That which had only frightened me now fueled me. I felt so powerful, so... commanding. 

However, the Power, like many other things, is not a toy to play with. Those that dabble in it are irrevocably changed. Those who live by it are eventually driven 'round the bend. To one who revels in it, however, insanity is an asset, not a drawback. 

The insane _see_ the Power. They can predict it, move with it, distract it, and stop it after it's been put into motion. 

It has taken me a year to crawl out of that depraved pit, following my first realization of what was going on around me. 

I had misinterpreted Katar's original offer. Yes, the Legion of the Falcon shared my goal of eliminating the enemy, and destroying the corruption of the Wizarding World. The problem was that we did not share the same enemy. 

Daemon Wolfos, head of the Legion of the Falcon, was supplying Voldemort with money, food, and cannon fodder to protect the isle of Azkaban. When Katar had informed me that Tom Riddle was still an active threat, even locked away, I had had no idea that it was because of the Legion's assistance. 

I was to have been inducted into the Legion. All I had to do was kill a man who had done little more than follow a Legionnaire back from Azkaban. 

All I had to do was kill Remus Lupin.

* * *

End Introduction 

My, my, this came out faster than I predicted-- only about thirteen hours instead of the three weeks that I told Nuvares last night. Aren't you all just so lucky? 

Yes, it's quite blatantly obvious that BSR is different from BS. BSR is what BS _should_ have been, if I hadn't been in the "omg!gothsocool!" phase when I first wrote it. BSR will be dark, will be bloody, and will occasionally steal scenes from movies I like, rewritten to fit the Wizarding World. 

Yes, Harry went through a goth phase, so all of you who want freak!Potter can just imagine him at some point in his seven year absence dressed as he was in BS. And then you can wince in pain as I inform you that the nose ring he had was pulled out in a street fight, and he now has a scar through one nostril. Aren't I nice? 

This isn't a nice story: if you're looking for more of the "Harry goes crazy, kills everyone, and takes over the world" than this story is NOT FOR YOU. This story is about Harry getting his life back under control after it's horrible downward spiral. This story is about Harry trying to come to grips with the world. And this story is about Harry's one-man-crusade to "fix" the Wizarding World. 

So don't bitch at me about the story being "wrong" and "not a sequel". That will just tell me who hasn't read these notes. Any anonymous reviews that do not have a contact email in them will be ignored. Why? Because I'm not going to respond to reviews in the story-- oddly enough half the rude comments I get are from anonymous idiots responding to a review response-- I'll respond via email. You'll get them faster that way, and you won't be confused for forgetting what you, yourself, had written. 

- The Itch 


	2. Chapter 2

He had been held captive in the fortress for nearly three months, counting off the days by etching in the floor. His wand had been snapped when he'd arrived, the emergency portkey in his pocket confiscated. He had been kept deaf and blind, subsisting on whatever scraps of conversation he had heard when given his scraps of food.

To think that things had started out so simply; Severus had reported to Albus of a certain rumor, and the old Headmaster had sent three Order Members, himself included, out to Azkaban to investigate. Apparently, Albus did not really consider it necessary to inform his operatives of what that particular rumor was, giving them only the pertinent mission information. Albus had been doing that a lot, keeping information from subordinates-- ever since the current Minister of Magic, Alexander Taggle, had declared any and all militias illegal and grounds for incarceration, Albus had had to tread lightly.

Taggle was much like Cornelius Fudge but for one major difference: he did not suffer fools. The Wizarding World was at a high like no other before it, though it came at the cost of the fortunes of several families who had sought to do 'under the table' business with the Minister. Taggle enjoyed the spotlight, and making himself look good, and his favorite target of late was the Militia group known as the Order of the Phoenix.

To be ousted as a member of the Order was almost as bad as being ousted as a Death Eater these days. So mission details were kept to a minimum, and Albus took many precautions, such as the emergency portkeys.

Unfortunately for him, he'd been hit so hard and so fast when he had come to this strange place that he hadn't the time to activate it. Well, technically he hadn't actually _arrived_ here before he was brought low. It had been on his rotation, watching the boat from Azkaban, that he saw a figure approaching. Clad in black from head to toe, his clothing was more muggle than wizard, though he wore a cloak over it all. Pants with pockets, hiking sandals, a black turtleneck with a black flak vest over top, and black gloves-- all of it dull black, intended for night-time camouflage he was sure. The tattered cloak had been pulled up over his head, and would have obscured his face if the featureless black mask he wore hadn't hidden it.

A chill seemed to permeate the air around his man, and it briefly brought the sensation of a Dementor upon him. He'd frozen in place for a crucial moment, and looking back on it, he didn't know if that was good or bad. At the time he'd believed it to be good-- the masked man had looked in his direction, but apparently dismissed whatever he'd thought he'd seen or heard because he had made no move to investigate.

He'd been grateful to whatever ghost was looking down on him and kept him from being seen, and proceeded to tail the man. After nearly half an hour of hiking across the shoreline, the man had come to a tall ring of stones, almost like a miniature Stonehenge. When the man vanished, he'd followed suit, planning to investigate the ring and report his findings.

The only thing he remembered after crossing into the ring was a split second of pain, then blackness. Then he was here, in this ratty little cell, in the middle of who-knows-where. A ratty little cell that was apparently strong enough to hold an enraged werewolf.

What was occurring now was something new-- the man who had been posted at the guard at his cell had dragged him out and down the hall towards what he assumed was the main meeting hall. There was a small group gathered, only seven or eight people, though Remus Lupin was positive that there were more in the building. They all wore clothing similar to that of the man he had tailed that day, though there were different colors and a few particular unique elements to the costumes. None were wearing masks or hoods, so Remus was treated to features unusual even for wizards.

One man had a fair sized pair of tusks jutting from his lower jaw; another did not appear to have a nose. A woman bore a large pair of ears that would have better fit a house-elf, while a boy looked to have had his eyes carved out. There was an array of colors when it came down to hair, and Remus had no idea if it was done through muggle dye, magic, or if it was even natural. It was something of a disturbing sight.

"Naginata."

Remus' head snapped around almost so fast he got whiplash. That was a voice he knew, and one he had hoped to never see again. That was the voice of the cranky old Ravenclaw DADA professor from his first through fifth years at Hogwarts-- Daemon Wolfos. His hair had gone gray at some point, though there were still black flecks through out it, but his eyes were a bright as ever, glinting with maliciousness as they took in the captive werewolf.

Daemon had never liked Remus, and from the grins the others in the room were giving him, he doubted they liked him either.

There were two men behind the old man, kneeling at the table he had just vacated. The three teacups and the teakettle still on it looked disturbingly out of place in a room that Remus _knew_ had been used as a torture chamber at some point.

The first of the two kneeling men looked remarkably like Daemon, tall and proud, with a broadness to his chest that the old wizard had never had. The younger man had his hair pulled back in the same low-slung ponytail at the elder, though his hair was a brilliant shade of red that would fit just as well with a Weasley.

The second man was younger, with shaggy black hair, and a shaggy mustache and beard. A clear visor covered his eyes, and at first Remus couldn't figure out if it was just style or actually needed. That is, until he noticed the long, thin, pale scar that ran down the side of the man's face, just barely missing a familiar green eye. The other eye was blank and empty, without even a pupil-- a false eye.

Why was this man familiar to him? Lupin was confused, and there was only one way that he could think of to figure out who this man was. Hesitantly, he drew in a breath, and almost choked. There were several scents that he knew he would never smell again-- this one was one of them. This was a man he had thought dead for nearly four years now, after the Order was unable to find him. This was "Harry!"

"Silence." Wolfos growled, and Remus' gaze snapped away from his wayward pup. Though he had to admit that the pup had become a man somewhere along the way, "Katar, your report?"

"Weapon is ready, Father," the pony tailed man spoke with a surprising softness to his tone, "He has passed all other tests."

"Good. Begin the final test."

The younger Wolfos turned to Harry; "You have this last test, before you are considered a full fledged Legionnaire. Kill this man."

Harry's eyes narrowed sharply, searching both Katar and Daemon's faces for a long moment before taking Remus into consideration. It was disturbing to have the one eye focused on him, but the other just... staring straight ahead. It seemed to be a muggle eye replacement, not a magical one.

"This is why you've been keeping him here? For me to execute?"

Wolfos raised a brow, lips quirking in amusement as his son seemed to be offended, "Asking questions of our Lord could be construed as treason, student."

"Killing the last of my godfather's friends is not something I take lightly," Harry returned flatly, "I require an explanation."

Wolfos waved his son off, as the man looked to go into another lecture, "How long have you known that we have kept the werewolf captive?"

"It was obvious at the first full moon," Harry was speaking just as calmly as the old professor was, "It was only a matter of time until I tracked down his location and discovered who it was. And I am afraid that Naginata's skills are highly overrated."

Remus winced as the man holding him up clenched his fists, and therefore Remus' arms. Katar shot his student a warning look, but Potter just seemed to ignore it. Wolfos eyes his subordinate for a moment, before commenting, "You are delaying."

"I suppose I am," Harry conceded, "But so are you."

"Point," Remus was quite surprised by the older man's apparent kindness to Harry. At Hogwarts, Wolfos was a taskmaster that derived great pleasure in punishing students for the slightest of infractions. The Marauders had been a favored target, and seeing him treat the son of one of them with anything even remotely considered civility when he questions the old man was somewhat disturbing. The werewolf did not want to consider what that might mean towards what Harry had become over the last seven years.

"He is a Dark Creature, a werewolf," Wolfos' disgust was tangible, "and for that alone he deserves death. He has also tracked a Legionnaire from Azkaban to the Travel Point-- that discovery is one that he can not be allowed to report upon, so he has been kept here in preparation for your final test. Kill him, and take your place among my Living Weapons-- as you have intended these past years."

"A werewolf? That is your great reason for killing him?" Harry scoffed, "There is no difference between a werewolf and a Weapon-- both are mortal human transformed into something higher. Viral contamination or addictive hallucinogen the base is the same; as such I have no reason to kill him. On the other hand..." his false eye began to glow with a disturbing lightly, "...I sincerely hope that you have not said what I believe you did."

"Werewolves are subhuman," Katar growled at his student, "They are one of the unnatural spawn of the darkness that contaminates this world-- their destruction will pave the way for the changes needed in the Wizarding World!"

Harry snorted, "Unnatural? Would that not apply to us as well? And that was not the part that I meant."

Remus wasn't sure what it was he heard in that instant, but it sounded like metal scraping across metal-- but he knew the outcome of it. Harry was standing between Remus and Katar, a sickle in each hand. It was an awkward position to hold a blade in, but Remus didn't doubt that with a twitch of his wrist Harry could kill Katar.

That Katar was not the only one with the agricultural tool turned weapon at his throat only made him worry. Remus didn't know what to do, especially as the only thing that was keeping the weakened wolf up was the man standing behind him.

"Start talking," the young wizard smiled coldly, "The first one who convinces me to let them live... well, lives. The other loses his head."

"H-Harry, what...?" Remus licked his lips, nervously eying the handle of the blade, unable to see the weapon at his throat. It was hard to believe that James Potter's son was standing there, millimeters from ending his life.

Perhaps he really should stop thinking of Harry as "James' Son". It had led him to problems with Harry before the boy had up and vanished, and it certainly wasn't helping in this situation.

Katar, on the other hand, did not seem the slightest bit perturbed. He considered his student for a long moment, before finally speaking, "Weapon. Listen to yourself, to your power-- _the_ Power-- and to your own knowledge. You know that this must be done. The magical world as it is, is a blight upon the very earth. We must cleanse it, and begin anew. We must restore the Balance! Begin with the werewolf, elimination the spawn of darkness. This is the only way."

"Harry..." Remus lifted his eyes from the boy's hand and the weapon's handle, "...Harry, Please! Don't do this! Think about what your parents would have wanted! What _Sirius_ would think of you!" it was a cheap shot, but he didn't want to die. Not now that he'd found the lost pup.

"From a certain point of view," Harry muttered, "everything can be construed as... good. Right. Proper. The problem here is..." in a flash of movement, Harry's left arm was in a guard position, his right passing through the space where Katar's neck had been. His foot went through where Katar's chest cavity should have been.

Katar had bent over backwards; right foot sweeping into a kick that Harry hopped over. The redheaded Weapon rolled onto his feet, and Harry held his sickles defensively before him.

"... you, Entropy." They circled each other, the gathered Weapons watching quietly, awaiting orders. Fights between members was a common way of determining who was the strongest of them, and many a man had tried to beat Entropy Wolfos for that position. Most had wound up dead or maimed, to be 'fixed' by Daemon and his experimentations.

"Did you really think that I would not recognize Ninetails? Seven years is a long time, but not long enough to forget that asshole. I've been digging for information since, and now I've struck gold."

"It is regrettable that you are so disinclined as to believe that your fellow Weapon could have had a change of heart. It speaks ill of your commitment to us," Katar's blades-- the same for which he was named-- snapped into place over his hands, just in time to catch Harry's left sickle. The boot to his navel surprised him, but he rolled with the blow.

"Draco Malfoy, change his loyalties? I doubt that," Harry twisted out of the way of a jab, and was aided to the ground by a boot in the ass. He rolled out of the path of the follow-up shot, "You see... you have confirmed the last of my suspicions."

"And what--" Katar flipped over Harry, attempting to get him from behind, though his student knew well his tactics. Harry had dropped to the floor, kicking out when his palms smacked the hardwood. Katar hit the ground hard, barely wheezing out, "--were those?"

Entropy quickly returned to his feet, dropping the right blade, and drawing his short sword. Potter caught the swing with his sickles, "The Legion has been supplying Tom's little 'secret regime'."

Harry pushed away with mentor with a burst of strength, the glow of his false eye brightening. It flashed for a moment, blinding the Weapons, Remus and Daemon-- Harry used this chance to take out Katar, by cracking him in the temple with butt of one of his sickles. The man collapsed to the ground.

When their eyes cleared, Daemon frowned at his son, crumpled up on the ground, "You have grown stronger, Weapon."

"Perhaps," he smirked.

"Halberd, Crossbow. Take Entropy to the infirmary."

The two men bowed, scooping up the body of their leader's son. They did not envy him-- he certainly did not receive any better treatment than they did. Wolfos tapped his chin, "Reckless, Weapon, reckless. What do you expect to do now? You have missed your chance to escape."

"I would not speak so soon," Potter's smirk turned into a viscous grin as an explosion and a cry of surprise came from the hall the Weapons had vanished down. Another Weapon left the room in a rush to investigate. Wolfos whirled around; glaring at the boy he had thought could be his next Second.

"An accomplice. You've been planning."

Another explosion, and it could be assumed that the Weapon who had left had stumbled across something he really should have been looking for.

"It appears that way, doesn't it?"

They stared hard at each other for a moment, before Wolfos stormed out of the room, calling over his shoulder. "Naginata! Kill the Wolf! Maquahuitl, eliminate Weapon!"

Maquahuitl was the man with the tusks; he hesitated for a moment, wondering about the intelligence of fighting a man who had just kicked Katar's ass by himself. In that moment, Harry moved, the same move he used to fell Katar now brought Naginata low, releasing the werewolf into his awaiting grasp.

"Stupid," the tusked man rumbled, "lose use of one hand."

"I don't need it, Maqua," Harry waggled his eyebrows with a devilish grin, his gaze sweeping past Maquahuitl to the form behind him. Remus tried to see what or who it could be, but Maquahuitl's massive form blocked it from his sight. Not that it really mattered, as the primitive Weapon jumped forwards a few steps, and swung his namesake in a circle behind him.

"Holy shit!" the voice was male, and Remus was going to assume human, "Now would be a _good_ time to interfere, Harry!" A lithe form was ducking and twisting between the wild swings, dressed as all the other Weapons had been. This one included the mask and cloak.

Potter had dropped the sickle he'd used to knock out Naginata, scrambling for something in his belt. After a moment he crowed with glee, an odd devise in hand.

"Move your ass, Viz!" Harry bellowed cheerfully, leaping up and over the tusked man, slapping the devise against his chest, "Twenty seconds!"

"Goddammit Harry, I hate you!"

* * *

End Chapter 

Explanation of all of Harry suspicions next chapter, as Remus gets clued in. Viz is revealed and named.

For the most part, only the introduction will be in first person. That was just Harry "catching everyone up" on the stuff I didn't want to write. Writing about someone running away and getting high for two-three years, then travelling the world for another two, then training how to fight is boring. Reading it is boring. That's not what this story is about.

The Maquahuitl is an ancient Aztec weapon; a combination of club and sword made of wood with obsidian blades on it. It has no point, so cannot be used for thrusting, and lacked the balance of a sword.

The name Entropy has been Katar's since I first created the character, many years ago, and remains his name through all the various incarnations of the Living Weapon story. Latest revision he's only around ten years old, but I felt a grown man would be better for this story.

Yes, I know that Daemon is a wizard. Yes, I know that Harry referred to him as a muggle in the introduction. This is not a typo or a plot hole. It will be explained. Suffice to say that there _is_ a reason he's called a muggle and not a squib.


End file.
